Love, a Many Splintered Thing

[Splin-ter]

1.a small, thin, sharp piece of wood, bone, or the like, split or broken off from the main body.

As all of you know, a splinter does not have to be huge to alter ones life. In fact, it’s the ones that appear to be invisible that often cause the most strife.

An example. If you were lucky enough to ram a 2×4 through your thigh, you are sure to be met with instant transport to an excellent medical facility and a team of professionals. Family and friends swoop in from everywhere to watch your kids and manage your life while you convalesce. All your favorite things are delivered to your bedside adorned with glittery bows and bobbing balloons. Phone calls and cards pour in from all corners of the nation wishing you a speedy and brilliant recovery.

But damn if anyone gives two hoots that you managed, in a single, insignificant motion, to firmly embed a microscopic bit of plunger handle into the side of your middle finger while trying to sink oversized golden retriever excrement into the toilet without flooding the bathroom! Nope. Zero hoots.

You were only trying to manage the dog turd situation more efficiently and now this. You examine it for a moment with ire. “How can my finger look so very normal and hurt so effing bad?!” you mutter in your head clenching your teeth.

You wash it with hot soapy water like a reasonable adult. You…shake your hand vigorously and examine again. Still hurts. Still invisible. You then decide instinctively to BITE the area on either side of the estimated entry point. No dice. And guess what, you’re out of time. Late, actually for… (insert mundane life event that everyone leads you to believe is urgent and you’re too tired to argue) here. You imagine walking in and announcing nonchalantly to the folks waiting “Sorry, plunger splinter…you know how it is!” but you decide to look harried and frazzled so no one would ask.

I’ll get to love in a minute I promise.

Life goes on and you are able to forget the plunger splinter for about..2.5 days. At this point the body has figured out that there is an intruder and has sent special forces to the target area in full cellular SWAT gear. You are first alerted to this major attack under the epidermis by the itching. Not just a little bit either. It’s the constant and unscratchable kind. You utilize every abrasive item you come in contact with to try and bring it under control. The seam of your bluejeans, the couch upholstery, the hairbrush! It begins to consume your mind. You can’t focus on work, you can’t decide on a dinner plan, you forget how to simplify fractions and therefor are of no use to the pre-teen sobbing over homework. You begin to lose control. You begin to chew off the side of your finger like that deranged dog on YouTube that gnawed it’s own leg like a ham bone.

This has to end. You have decided to be proactive! You WILL be VICTORIOUS over the plunger splinter! You gather the tools. Needle, Tea tree oil, cotton ball, peroxide, tweezers. You’re going in!

We’re going to cut to a brief commercial break because, frankly the adjectives and verbs that I would be required to use in this portion, make me a little queasy. I mean, we’ve  all performed this type of personal surgery, right? No need to go into all the gruesome detail.

{Insert sounds of sawing and hammering and clanking of heavy metal tools for dramatic effect} 

And FINALLY…..defeat.

Plunger splinter: 1

You: 0

But as a consolation prize, you now have a wound that you can see.

Part II: Love, a Wound You Can See

Bear with me. I do have a point, I think.

I’ve been married for 20 years. The interesting thing about being married to the same person for this number of years is that, if you step back, you can see this wild pattern in nearly everything. In this particular prattle and in lieu of it being the National Day of Love and all, I would like to talk about wounds.

There will be a LOT of wounds. Self inflicted, planned, aimed and executed, and ones that you “plunge” into quite accidental-like. Some of them, you will ignore and find that they disappear quite on their own and some will fester and get ugly and insistent until addressed. Most of the time though, especially as you grow old together and more and more is added to the whirling storm that is the life you’ve spun, you will need to create a wound you can see. Letting things lie just under the surface because they look normal is almost never the best plan.

Get in there.

{Insert sounds of sawing and hammering and clanking of heavy metal tools for dramatic effect} 

Create a wound you can see.

Heal together.

Written by Andi Roberts